


Photography | Colombia

by beyondcanon



Series: Photography [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Future Fic, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel follows Quinn to Colombia. It doesn't work as she imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photography | Colombia

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my [prompt challenge](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge) on Tumblr. Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them.
> 
> By the structure of the challenge, each part of the Photography series is a standalone, complete installment. I might add more to it at anytime; I suggest you subscribe in case there's more to come. :)

She gets on a fucking plane.

It’s been too long, and she can’t stand it anymore.

She doesn’t leave the plane as much as runs from it, jumping in a cab and giving Quinn’s address.

She needs answers.

It’s a hot night, much too warm for her long-sleeved dress. She wishes she’d checked the weather, that she’d chosen shorts or something, anything that wouldn’t leave her sweating like this.

It’s too late; it’s too damn late.

She rings Quinn’s doorbell.

—

Someone’s at your door.

One of your friends chooses an upbeat Cumbia as the next song, and you love the African percussion of it. A few others clap excitedly as they run to the middle of the flat to dance.

You like the friends you made here.

You needed the fresh air.

Grabbing another cold as ice beer, you head to the door. It’s probably just someone late to the party, anyway, and you give your best welcoming smile as you open the door.

Time freezes, and you can see yourself standing there like the fool you are, staring at Rachel Berry.

“Hi,” Rachel tries, eyes scanning your face.

You blink a few times, too confused to feel anything. “You’re here.”

She nods, shuffling the bag in her hand. “And you’re having a party.”

You think of how fate works, the turns in your life, and how completely helpless you are. You give a small shrug, masking the emotions trying to surface. “Come and join us, then.”

—

It’s really a party.

But then again, Quinn was always the perfect host.

The scarce furniture has been rearranged to leave a wide space in the middle of the apartment in lieu of a dance floor. There are chairs and pillows and ottomans on a corner, making a cozy environment for conversation.

There must be at least twenty people there – twenty new people in Quinn’s life, twenty people in exchange of her ruining any kind of friendship they could have had.

A beautiful girl, olive skin and long hair, comes to Quinn and envelops her in an easy kiss, hugging Quinn’s neck.

A sudden sadness spreads over Rachel’s chest, and she’s already wishing she had never boarded that plane.

—

You didn’t want to see Rachel ever again.

The last thing you wanted was for her to show like this, barging in like she had all the right, like she  _belonged_.

You leave your current girlfriend and stop by the fridge to get Rachel some white wine.

You can feel her stare, burning the back of your neck, but you’re not really in the mood to go around explaining anything.

“Got you something,” you say, giving her the glass and taking a big gulp of your long neck.

She sips her drink in silence, leaning against the wall. She’s filled with sadness and doubt, hesitating to tell you something, but you’re not going to make it any easier.

Maybe it’s the alcohol doing more than softening the edges of your vision, but you sigh and break the silence. “Why are you here, Rachel?”

“I miss you.” She doesn’t even look in your direction. “I haven’t seen you in six months, not since—“

You can’t handle it. “We’re not talking about that.”

She retreats into silence, and it somehow makes you feel small again, like you’re still a sophomore who needs to hurt Rachel to feel alive.

The words stumble out of your mouth, out of control. “What were you expecting, really? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.” She looks right into your eyes, piercing. “I don’t know, okay?”

She’s doing that thing that she does, walking into your personal bubble, and you place a hand on her chest. “Stop it.”

You can feel her heart under the heel of your palm, beating as fast as yours, her skin clammy with sweat.

—

She had forgotten how cold Quinn could be.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she says, placing her hand over Quinn’s.

She’s doing it wrong again. This is the wrong place and the wrong moment; it isn’t supposed to be in the middle of a Colombian house party at 2am with Quinn’s girlfriend staring right at them.

“You never had me,” Quinn answers flatly, eyes empty of emotion, and takes her hand away.

It feels too much like a breakup, and tears begin to pool at the corner of Rachel’s eyes.

—

You’re not the villain.

You’re the second choice, the garbage, and you’re so mad at Rachel’s arrogance, at her assumption she should always get what she wants – you hold her arm and you take her outside, blood boiling in anger.

The old staircase creaks and whines under your heavy steps, and you hope the few people that live in that building are not with their ears glued to the wall, waiting for the gossip.

You’re so angry at her for not choosing you, angry with her for not letting you get away, making you feel like you’re the bad guy in this – you shove her against the wall outside, hard and unnecessary.

“Has it not occurred to you that if I  _wanted_  to talk to you I would have answered your calls? I wouldn’t have picked a project in the middle of fucking  _Colombia_ , for the love of God?”

She’s full on crying now, grabbing your arm. “Quinn, please—“

“I need fucking space, Rachel.” You sneer, because you  _hate_  her, you  _despise_  her self-righteousness. “I don’t work under your schedule.”

That’s it, congratulations; you’re still the same person as 15 years ago and you still follow the same hurtful rules.

No one ever changes, much less you.

—

Her fingers curl around Quinn’s arm, refusing to let her go.

Her back aches with the impact of being thrown, but she doesn’t mind. She’ll let Quinn do whatever she wants, if it makes her feel better. “I don’t understand, I thought we were—“

“We’re nothing,” Quinn interrupts, freeing her arm from Rachel’s grasp. “We were never anything.”

It stings, burning deep in Rachel’s chest. They had been friends, once, and Quinn used to listen and touch her shoulder gently, because Quinn  _understood_  what it felt like.

“Stop lying!” She shoves Quinn back, her voice one breath short of a yell. “We were friends, we had something—“

Quinn’s hands push her shoulders back, until she’s against the rough wall one more time. She winces in pain, trying to break free.

Quinn’s mouth forms a straight line, her eyes intense. “We were never friends.”

Rachel grabs Quinn’s shirt and pulls her close.

—

You kiss Rachel because you can’t stand it anymore.

You take over her mouth forcibly, a hand on her throat as the other squeezes her waist, and it’s so maddening when she just complies, lets you do what you want.

Your tongue takes over her mouth, licking her teeth, the roof of her mouth, before rubbing against Rachel’s tongue, wet and desperate. She whimpers when the hand on her throat presses down some more, hanging on to you and ruining your shirt.

You’re crazy, delirious, you’re dreaming; this can’t be happening.

You want to take her,  _ruin_ her, and your bite on her lower lip is more painful than pleasant; she answers by wrapping one leg around you to have you closer. You kiss her again, all teeth and bite, releasing her throat to pull her hair because God, she tastes amazing.

“Fuck me, Quinn,” she says, her voice raspy, faltering with your mouth on her pulse point. She takes your hand from her breast and pushes it under her dress. “Take me.”

And you do it, two fingers inside her in an empty Colombian street, pressing your body against hers to give you both some balance.

She’s tight and hot and way too  _wet_  already; you muffle a groan in her neck as you thrust, hard and deep and demanding, listening to her chanting your name over and over and over again.

—

It’s so dirty and good and right, spreading herself open for Quinn’s fingers, touching herself as Quinn fucks her brains out and takes ownership of her body so completely.

She comes abruptly around Quinn’s fingers with a quiet, desperate sound and she bites Quinn’s shoulder to hold back the tears, whimpering when Quinn pulls out.

She sees it all now – she understands Quinn and their past and her mind has never been clearer, sharper.

Quinn’s breath is shallow, and her eyes are unreadable again. “Leave.” Rachel opens her mouth to argue, but Quinn is already taking a step back and fixing her hair. “I’ll ask someone to take you to a hotel.”

Her head is spinning, she doesn’t understand. “Can I see you again?”

Quinn shakes her head, unattainable once more. “I don’t know.”

Rachel holds back the tears until she’s safely inside her hotel room.


End file.
